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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25216363">Frozen in Time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhumpTown/pseuds/WhumpTown'>WhumpTown</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Hurt Malcolm Bright, Hurt/Comfort, Malcolm Bright Whump, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Torture, Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:55:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,786</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25216363</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhumpTown/pseuds/WhumpTown</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ask: I had an idea that Malcolm and the Team are going up against someone from Edrisa's past - someone who drugs his victims to make people think they're dead, but they can feel everything but they can't react and then he autopsies them and Malcolm gets into this situation and the gang have to save him or something?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dani Powell &amp; Edrisa Tanaka, Gil Arroyo &amp; Edrisa Tanaka, Gil Arroyo &amp; Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright &amp; Dani Powell, Malcolm Bright &amp; Edrisa Tanaka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the seventh grade his advanced science class sent home wavers in the mail to be signed and sent back, written consent for thirteen-year-old to dissect some poor frogs in the name of science. When his mother got a hold of it, despite his initial interest, she put a very quick hold on that idea. Pre-pubescent boys are a force to be reckoned with, especially when they have their minds set on something, and the only thing Malcolm wanted in the whole wide world was to be a normal seventh grader and get to cut open a frog. </p><p>To him, it was nothing more than a frog and a science experiment his mother was being outrageous about. Not understanding him or his intense desire to just be <i>normal</i>.</p><p>It was never that simple though. It’s a frog but Jessica knew if he did what the other boys would do, if he got curious, and he looked and <i>questioned</i>- It’s all for nothing. Malcolm has a hard enough time. The tremor in his hand, the nightmares, and the anxiety. It makes him a novel to the other students, something to pick apart and ridicule. A <i>threat</i> and he always will be to those people. So, as much as it hurts her to say no to something so silly in his eyes- she has to.</p><p>It’s been over twenty years since that frog. His curiosity moved on to better things (a pig fetus in the ninth grade- she didn’t let him do that either, and a pig heart eleventh grader year- take a guess at that one Big. Fat. No.) and he’s certainly seen worse, now. Any medical curiosity he might have harbored dissipated whilst in college, biology and anatomy are good and all but <i>the Surgeon</i> ruined any hope of going into that field. </p><p>Autopsies. He’s never conducted one. He’s never seen one done. A morbid part of him is still curious, nothing wrong there, but it’s the kind of curiosity that’s better left unsatisfied. </p><p>This time, it’s not necessarily his fault. It’s… no one’s really. Edrisa had done everything they asked of her, even when it got hard. Someone had to make a mistake, they were simply bound to. Up for the better part of seventy-two hours, a single slip up wouldn’t be uncalled for. It’s excusable… he has to remember that.</p><p>“No, cause you see-” their bad guy, a solid 6’2 pathologist on the wrong end of a psychotic break, is unraveling. He’s disorganized and, just as Malcolm profiled, just being dealt a really awful hand. He’s not a mean man, not by nature. Edrisa had talked fondly of him, fear tinged into every memory she could recall as JT had slipped a Kevlar vest over his head and Dani loaded her gun. Of course, they all knew what he’d done was <i>unforgivable</i> but Edrisa was working double time to remind them that he’s a man. </p><p>A man not aware of his actions.</p><p>Now, Malcolm is being subjected to those very actions.</p><p>
  <b>Five Hours Before- NYPD precinct’s conference room</b>
</p><p>Admittedly, Malcolm can tell that their particular, current, brand of questioning is doing more wearing and tearing and less information providing. Not that is at all Edrisa’s fault. While they have been working nonstop to provide an ample profile, place evidence, and question witnesses/family over the course of the last two days Edrisa hasn’t left the basement. None of them have left the precinct in hours, what is now <i>days</i>. It’s officially starting to go to their heads and not in a good way.</p><p>“Dammit!” It’s spurring the kind of outrage and whiplash that normally would never occur. Every last one of them is guilty of it too, it’s just that now the heat has been turned to Edrisa and the nervous sweat and tears threatening to fall from her eyes aren’t setting right with Malcolm. Not anymore. They’ve crossed a point- a point where they are no longer helping <i>anyone</i> and they certainly aren’t helping the one person who can help them: Edrisa.</p><p>“Gil,” Malcolm understands the power he has over the room. While, right now, they may be acting insensitive to Edrisa’s clear sadness there is a certain edge that he holds. It’s not, necessarily, that they prefer him to Edrisa or that they don’t like Edrisa so much as they’re afraid to break him. He’s seen the way they act. Dani walks on tiptoes around him and JT, for once, censors his clipped tone. And Gil. What wouldn’t Gil drop if Malcolm needed him?</p><p>So now, as Malcolm reaches out and gently squeezes the older man’s bicep, he knows he’s bringing a stop to the integration. “Gil,” he repeats. “I think that’s enough.” Somehow, he’s the one to acknowledge they’ve gone too far… stretched too thin. </p><p>There are first for everything.</p><p>Gil somber, a stricken sadness across his face. His actions and words are catching up to him. He hasn’t been acting like a leader and the thought sits uneasily with him. “Edrisa,” he attempts, his eyes softening as he grapples with the correct words to communicate with her how sorry he is. Nothing about his actions as of late have been appropriate but whose had been?</p><p>With their second victim, Edrisa <i>had</i> recognized something. Malcolm had called it a signature but she knew it to be more profound, a preferred style of incision done by a specific group of pathologists. Pathologist she knows, that she works with. As that news became public, going from something she adamantly told Dani to the rest of the team marked <i>URGENT</i>, the integration began. </p><p>Why hadn’t she told them? They’re three bodies in- three people have been paralyzed while a man fished around inside their bodes until they bled out or died of shock! Why was she silent?</p><p>The same reason any of them would be… they were hunting one of her friends. Not just a coworker. A friend.</p><p>“Everyone,” Gil pulls in a deep breath. Steadying himself as he leans down over the table, his head hanging. “Go home.” Before the stuttered complaints and arguments come, he shuts them down giving his head a sharp shake. A clear no. “We’re not thinking straight and I can’t honestly tell you the last time I slept or ate.” He looks up at them, as if to prove some point with his bloodshot eyes. “Go home. Eat. Sleep. We’re no good like this.”</p><p>Reluctantly, they do as they are told. Even Malcolm.</p><p>“Wait, Bright!” </p><p>While the others had filed out, nothing of theirs to gather up Malcolm had faltered with this order before moving to his coat. Delaying him just enough to leave the conference room’s only occupants to be him and Edrisa. “Yeah,” he’s too tired to plaster on a 1,000 wat smile but he offers a small grin. Something comforting. </p><p>She smiles sheepishly back and he knows the words that are going to come out of her mouth are going to be an apology before she even parts her lips. “I should have told you sooner,” she admits, ashamed. She should have, he can’t refute that. </p><p>As much as he’d like to brush it off, they might be farther than they are right now if she’d spoken up sooner. “I would have done something similar in your position,” he admits honestly, because he would. Making the decision to turn in his own father was hard and he can’t be certain what he would do now, as an adult a whole lifetime later. </p><p>He places a hand on her shoulder, “I hope you know, in the future, that you can tell me anything.” He hopes the same notion would be offered back to him if the situation was reversed. “And this isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have prevented any of this.” </p><p>They share a knowing smile, silent but full of understanding. </p><p>It makes his chest feel tight with a good kind of feeling. He’s still reeling on that high- friendship is still so new to him, better than new car smell- as he steps into his house. The first thing he notices is that Sunshine doesn’t greet him with her normal eagerness. As he whistles out to her, he hears the barrel of a gun cock. </p><p>“Ha-Ha-Hand up!”</p><p>Malcolm turns around slowly, finding himself looking straight down the barrel of a gun.</p><p>
  <i>Great.</i>
</p><p>Malcolm raises his hands and aside from the inappropriate thought of <i>I wonder if I’ve set a record for being kidnapped by serial killers</i> he thinks about the tremor in his left hand. What would he do if he was stopped by some trigger happy maniac- make it a yet <i>another</i> serial killer, a citizen engorged on too much <i>True Crime</i>, or some cop- and the saw his hand. The tremor isn’t hard to miss and what if it’s read as guilt? Like he’s got something to hide?</p><p>He collects himself, regroups. “You don’t have to do any of this,” but it becomes apparent, sooner rather than later, that what he has to say doesn’t matter. The other man has already made up his mind. “Please-” the world goes black.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s <i>cold</i>.</p><p>Across his body is a layer of sweat, glistening in the bright lights overhead. He’s aware, present even if his senses are plagued by his heavy eyelids. “Hnss,” his mouth won’t work, his tongue thick and heavy. <i>Paralyzed</i>, he’s helpfully reminded. He’s getting really tired of his kidnapping business. </p><p>“You got--” their bad guy, a giant man no bigger than a pipe cleaner, is towering over Malcolm. His red face pinched in anger. “You got in my <i>head</i>!” he accuses. “You rearranged--” he presses his fist to the sides of his head, like he’s attempting to flatten his skull between them. “<i>You</i>--” Malcolm finds himself looking down the cool silver of a scalpel. “<i>You</i> rearranged my thoughts!”</p><p>Malcolm can’t even cry out as the scalpel is placed against his skin, cold pain across his chest as he watches with morbid curiosity as his skin is opened. Blood pools over and slides down his sides. It’s so warm, nearly scalding that it hurts. </p><p>With a metallic clatter, the scalpel is tossed to the side and with a gurgle, Malcolm chokes as he feels the man’s hands enter his body. <i>Hurt</i> isn’t the right word. It feels like a stomach ache but the worst part is how alarmingly cold he becomes. </p><p>Black dances across his vision and he realizes he can’t breathe. Compared to the hand digging around in his abdomen cavity, suffocating is surprisingly painless. Prone on his back, slowly suffocating to death, Malcolm dwells on the team. The state of the other bodies was enough to make him believe their killer was, originally, a sadist. Loved ones could not recognize the victims, Edrisa had to pull dental records.</p><p>Will Gil recognize him?</p><p>Or will it be his mother? It won’t be Ainsely, his mother won’t allow it. Her expensive eyeliner won’t run as she sobs at his side. She’ll wear black high heels to his funeral, equipped with harsh remarks for months as she fails to come to terms with his death. Her relationship with Ainsley's will take the hit but it’ll bring Gil and Ainsley closer. </p><p>He imagines the two of them will go back to doing things as they had when Ainsley was little. Gil will bring her candy and she’ll make him bad whiskey sours as they sit on her couch. A lifetime separating them-- a dead spouse and a dead sibling.</p><p>But at least then something good would come of this.</p><p>He hopes Edrisa doesn’t blame herself. It’s not her fault.</p><p>“NYPD!”</p><p>His eyes have already slipped shut, too far gone for his heart rate to increase as the possibility of rescue becomes probable. There’s no more pain, just chills across his skin. </p><p>__________</p><p>
  <b>
    <i>Before</i>
  </b>
</p><p>“Malcolm’s gone.”</p><p>Per their usual Thursday routine, Dani was waiting outside Malcolm’s therapist’s to drive him into work. She’d been sipping the coffee she’d specifically gotten for him when a woman had approached the side of the car. It had taken Dani a moment to place the older woman as Malcolm’s therapist, as they’d only met a few times in passing as she’d walked Malcolm to the car.</p><p>Upon hearing Malcolm missed his session, something he did frequently but usually with a phone call of warning in addition to the impromptu cancelation, Dani headed to his apartment. </p><p>Hence-- “He’s gone, Gil.”</p><p>Dani stands, arms crossed and heart racing, watching Edrisa’s team sweep through the scene. They won’t find anything. Just like JT and Gil hadn’t found anything when they raided Thomas Houser’s apartment and garage space an hour ago. </p><p>But no matter how awful this is for her, she knows it’s worse on her friend. </p><p>“We’ll find him,” she promises Edrisa, reaching over and taking the other woman’s hand. “He’s Malcolm,” she offers softly, eyes slowly tracking around his apartment. “He never goes anywhere for too long.”</p><p>Just almost too long.</p><p>Before JT kicks in the room’s door, the heavy scent of blood is thick in the air. Mentally, he prepares himself for the sight on the other side. That doesn’t mean he’s anymore ready than anyone else.</p><p>“NYPD, put your hands where I can see them!”</p><p>White latex gloves covered in Bright’s blood are raised to the ceiling, the man saying something intangible as he’s cuffed. All JT sees is Malcolm. Deathly pale and his blood pooled underneath him. His lips pale blue, his body limp. “We need paramedics!”</p><p>JT steps forward unsure what to do. His hands are filthy and Malcolm doesn’t need possible infection added to the list of things wrong with him as of current. He still wants to help. Watching his friend bleed to death is on his current list of once in a lifetime activities. With Malcolm’s track record though, this might not be the only time this happens.</p><p>It takes 24 hours for any news to be delivered on Malcolm's condition.</p><p>JT would be lying if he said he wasn’t unnerved by every single minute that went by.</p><p>He doesn’t wake up for more than three days later. </p><p>“Hey sleepy head.” Dani stands from her chair, anxiously twisting her fingers as Malcolm looks around the room. </p><p>His eyes settle on Edrisa’s tear stained face and the bags under Dani’s eyes. “Hmm,” he blinks sleepily. “Do I look <i>that</i> bad?”</p><p>“You look…” Dani’s eyes trail down him. He’s still pale despite the blood transfusions and the gauze they have him wrapped in making him look more mummy than man isn’t helping. His hands are impossibly steady, even and limp on the gurney. He’s nothing like his normal self. Not even his scraggly facial hair is normal, not that he doesn’t look nice with a beard. He’s just not Malcolm.</p><p>Edrisa gently knocks her hand against his, filling in the silence. “As handsome as ever Bright!”</p><p>Slowly, his eyes track over to her. Grinning he laughs softly, even when his face twists with the unsuspecting pain the action causes. “You’re too kind,” he manages, voice as rough as he feels.</p><p>JT, whose feet are propped on the end of Malcolm’s bed, had been only a silent observer until that moment. He is still coming to terms that he values Malcolm Bright as a friend-- <i>yuck</i>-- but he can’t pass up a chance to bust their chops. He lowers the book he’d been using as an emotional shield and clears his throat. “I won’t lie to you man,” JT purposely makes his voice sound distraught and he eats up the way all three of heads snap to him. “You look like shit.”</p><p>Malcolm’s face falls for a moment before he smiles and leans back into the pillows. He runs a tired hand over his face, shaking his head. “Thank you, JT.” He settles a smile on the detective. “Has my near death experience changed anything between us regarding your mysterious first name?”</p><p>Honestly, JT panicked. He felt unsettled to his core that he hadn’t told Malcolm and that the stupid punk ass might die not knowing something as stupid as his first name. JT flips his book back into place. “No.”</p><p>Malcolm smiles, “<i>that</i> means yes!”</p><p>JT rolls his eyes, glaring as he looks back at Malcolm. “No, it doesn’t!” He looks at Dani for help but she’s not being helpful at all. Smiling all soft and understanding. “It doesn’t mean yes. Stop looking at me like that.” When he looks back to Malcolm he’s smiling too. “Stop profiling me, runt.”</p><p>Dani gently smacks Malcolm’s hand and settles a glare on JT, “<i>boys</i>.” Her reprimand breaks both of their focus, “behave.”</p><p>At least some things never change.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Is this shitty writing? Yes.<br/>Am I extremely stressed to the point that I can't even stress write like I normally would? Yes.<br/>I'm bored, stressed, and can't focus on anything SOMEONE COME TALK TO ME</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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